combat, and, marking how it terminated, had sped them away out of danger. Chisholm's party brought home five prisoners with them, twelve English horses well caparisoned, and all the prey, save one ox that Will Laidlaw had ridden over and slain in the plenitude of his wrath. The Scots had no fewer than nine killed and grievously wounded out of their small party, of whom one of the latter was the brave and lovely Bess Chisholm, who was so faint, that Will was obliged to carry her all the way home on his horse before him, clasped to his bosom, he not failing to kiss her pallid cheek many a time by the way, while all the rest wondered at Laidlaw's great concern about the youth. When Peter saw his child borne into the house pale and wounded, he lost all recollection of the secret of her sex, and cried out "O my poor Bess! my dear daughter! What had I ado making a man of thee! Thy blood is on thy old father's head. "Alas, for my beloved daughter!" "Daughter!" exclaimed they all again and again, "Daughter!" re-echoed Will Laidlaw, as if he had not known well before. "Daughter?" cried the skin-men: "Have we then been led to the field by a maid? Shame on our heads that suffered the overthrow! against the rules of chivalry as her attempt was! Alas, for the gallant and high spirited young dame!" They put her to bed, and dressed her wounds, and from all appearances had high hopes that she was more afraid and fatigued than hurt. She soon fell into a quiet slumber, in which they left her, and retired to take some refreshment, and talk over their morning's adventure. It turned out as suggested, that their three prisoners were the three chief men of the gang, who had completely lost themselves and all traces of their companions among the mist; and having heard a report of the seizure formerly made at that place, they cunningly tried to pass themselves off as messengers sent in search of the lost travellers. If they had been with their own party, that would have proved an overmatch for the Chisholms. The Reids and Halls had been herried of their whole live stock by the Warden's people, and learning that the greater part of it was driven up into these mountains, they naturally wanted to make some reprisals and recover their own again. Had it not been for their misfortune in separating, and the exertions of the gallant hide-men, they would have effected their purpose with the utmost ease. It proved a luckless raid for them, for they lost all their horses, the greater part of their men, and the chief, squire Anthony, and six of his friends, were sent prisoners to the castle of Mountcomyn.